


Thank You, Perdita

by WhatSoMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy Volunteers, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatSoMalfoy/pseuds/WhatSoMalfoy
Summary: After the war, Draco is sentenced to a short period of time in the Muggle world - without the use of magic. A condition of his sentence is that he finds a place to volunteer his time, so he goes to the only place that will have him... A Nursing Home.Written for the Dramione's Valentine's Exchange, I may have exceeded the drabble word count suggestion.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36
Collections: Dramione Valentine Exchange





	Thank You, Perdita

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tygermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneValentineExchange](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneValentineExchange) collection. 



> Happy Valentines Day, Tygermine! I hope you have a wonderful day filled with booze and cigarettes that you don't have to hide from your father! 
> 
> Sending my thanks and love to a wonderful beta.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> "You may smell like a rose, but you're as prickly as its thorns."  
> 

Community service was hell. It was hell, and it was bullshit, and it was the single best thing Draco Malfoy had ever done in his life. The only worthwhile thing he had ever put his efforts into. Sure, he was clever, his wand work above average and he did well in school. Draco did well in every task he undertook, whether he was happy to complete them or not. He succeeded always. 

After the war, he had remained a free man. A free man under certain circumstances, that is. Draco was required to turn over his wand to the Ministry for a period of five years. He was asked to live without the magic that he loved, relied upon and didn't know how to live without. Then he was cast out into the Muggle world with little more than a handbook telling him how to get by. If he did not have access to a vast fortune, he would have fallen flat on his face. Even _he_ had limits on how resourceful he could be. 

Another stipulation was that he would find a charitable organisation that he could donate his time to. What a joke that had been. Draco was barely eighteen years old. He had no experience to offer any sort of charity, let alone one that he would be interested in. Eventually, he had found an advertisement in a Muggle publication asking for volunteers to help in an aged-care facility. Draco neither knew nor cared what an aged-care facility was. He had a deadline, and it was fast approaching. He would fill in his form and show up for whatever work this "facility" was offering him. 

Old people. The term 'aged-care' was painfully obvious if one bothered to think about it. Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy name, fortune and responsibility had found himself working _around_ old people. He was careful not to interact with them, of course. As a volunteer, he wasn't required to do any of the truly hideous work like getting them dressed, fed or medicated. No, instead he kept the teapots full, the dishes clean and the bingo cards fresh. 

There was but one redeeming thing about his work—one small sanctuary, if you will. This 'facility' had space for what was supposed to be a garden. Draco usually hated to get his hands dirty, but he had found a gentle rhythm with his mother in their gardens at the manor. He was surprisingly good at nurturing life back into all things that grew from the ground. So, each day, he ignored the one old woman who sat outside, a blanket thrown over her legs, and tended to the ground. Ever so slowly, the weeds and brambles were removed and as his first Muggle Spring arrived, so did the bright green sprigs of life from the dirt.

As the garden grew, so did the confidence of his quiet companion. Perdita, her name was. She told him on the third day she spoke to him, complimenting him on how he had worked to turn the small space into something beautiful. Somehow, and before he knew it, Draco had formed a friendship with this old person. She was clever, he found. Witty, too. Sharp as a tack, really. She had so many stories of a past life that he could hardly imagine, and he laughed with her. Old people, he thought, were not so bad after all.

"I'd love for you to meet my granddaughter," she told him one day. "She's about your age. I think you'd have a lot in common with her," she winked.

Draco scoffed. As much as he enjoyed Perdita's company, he was sure that he wouldn't have two words worth exchanging with the granddaughter he'd never seen hide nor hair of. 

Perdita shook her finger at him, a coy smile on her face. "Don't you dismiss her just yet, young man. She is a fine girl, and the two of you would get on like a house on fire," she nodded, her thin greying ringlets bouncing. "You'll be here on Thursday, won't you?" She asked.

"Of course," Draco replied, busying himself with the roses—Perdita's favourite. "I'm here every Tuesday and Thursday, you know that."

"I do," she hummed in response, her eyes twinkling.

Draco plucked a rose and brought it over to her. "What are you up to?" He asked her as she inhaled the sweet scent.

"Just wanting to make sure that I spend my birthday with my favourite gardener," she replied. The rose twirled back and forth through her fingers, a devilish smile lurking behind it. 

"Your birthday, is it? Well, I'll be sure to pick you up something special," Draco told her with a wink. 

* * *

Thursday arrived, and Draco proudly carried a gift for Perdita under his arm all through the home and out into the garden where he knew he would find her. She was sitting in her usual spot by the roses, but she wasn't alone. A girl sat next to her. No, not a girl, just a petite young woman. With a mane of bushy and wild curls. A head of hair that he would recognise anywhere. 

"Oh, Draco, dear. There you are. I was beginning to wonder. Come, let me introduce you to my granddaughter," she said with a barely concealed wink. 

Hermione, of course, had whipped her head around and had been staring at him open-mouthed since Perdita had first addressed him.

"Malfoy?" She said incredulously. "What the— what are _you_ doing here?"

"I volunteer here, Granger. Have done for the last year. Nice of you to visit your grandmother in all of that time!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. "Excuse me? I visit her every week. How dare you insinuate otherwise!"

"Oh," Perdita said quietly, peaking around Hermione's straight-backed form. "I see you know each other already."

" _This_ , Gran," Hermione pointed accusingly at Malfoy, "is the young man you so desperately wanted to introduce me too?"

"Yes, dear," Perdita nodded.

"You know," Draco sauntered over to the two women, "I think I'll garden first and have a cuppa with you later, Perdita. I'll let you visit with _Hermione_ first." The way he said her name made it clear to Hermione that he was just as horrified to see her as she was him. Draco leant down, placed a soft kiss on Perdita's cheek, and handed her the beautifully wrapped package. 

Draco made himself as scarce as possible among the rose bushes. Distantly, if he allowed himself, he could overhear snatches of a heated conversation between the two women. Perdita was insisting that he was a young man of fine character, while Hermione argued that he was not—and honestly, he had to give her that. She had known him longer, after all. Perdita only knew the things he wanted her to know. Perhaps he could let Granger see some of those things, too—if it would make the old woman happy. It might even be nice to have a conversation with someone who knew his past, knew he was a wizard, someone who knew him well enough that he didn't have to hide constantly. 

Hermione appeared behind him, startling him from his reverie. As a result, his usual sneering mask was what she was greeted with.

"Fucking hell," Hermione swore, further rendering him off guard. "I can't believe I am about to do this. You might smell like these roses," she gestured wildly around her, "but you're still as prickly as their thorns."

Draco deepened his sneer—the swot was hardly being complimentary, but maybe he could admire her honesty... among other things that were glaringly obvious without her baggy school uniform. The witch was _actually_ pretty, too, he could see now. Flecks of gold in her amber eyes, a light smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, a perfect—Draco stepped backwards quickly. He was far too close to her if he could notice all of these things. 

"Well," he prompted, "get to it, Granger. What are you _about to do?_ "

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Draco was under the impression that she must love her grandmother very much if she was willing to have a somewhat civil conversation with him.

"Would you like to have a drink with me? Later today, once your shift is over?"

Draco tried and failed to school his face back into its mask. He was—what? Flattered? Aghast? Somewhere in between? Surprised, yes, he was surprised.

"What? Why?"

"Because my grandmother seems to think we will hit it off, despite my telling her otherwise. However, it is her birthday, and you just gave her a first edition of 'A Midsummer's Night Dream', which was really lovely, but honestly too generous, and —"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I'll get a drink with you."

"Oh, er, ok. Do you have somewhere in mind?" A slight blush crept up her neck and settled over her cheeks. 

Draco smirked. "I thought you were the one doing the asking, Granger."


End file.
